


I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head

by Wayoming



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, I did this by accident, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayoming/pseuds/Wayoming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson is shot for the second time he barely notices until it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head

  


  


  


  
  
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When John Watson is shot for the second time, he barely notices until it's too late.

He is too busy memorising the smile on the mans face before him. Too busy marvelling at how genuine it seems after so long. After only ever seeing the face framed by dark, curly locks frown and hard as stone.

When John Watson is shot for the second time, he is too busy to notice the bloom of blood flowering on the shirt he's wearing, and puts down the sudden warmth in his chest to the presence of the man before him. He thinks the feeling that his heart is expanding is merely because of the shy hand that had been resting close to his on the table in this cafe had moved close enough to fall over his own. The long pale fingers gently brushing over his own shorter ones as though asking a question. One that John answers firmly by intertwining the fingers with his own.

It takes nearly a minute for John to feel the pain, because the smile that had adorned his companions face had sparked his own and has filled him with such a sense of warmth and happiness that it's almost as if his brain doesn't want to interrupt what it realises are John Watson's last moments with Sherlock Holmes.

When John Watson is shot for the second time the first thing he does is grip tighter onto Sherlock's fingers, before his world swims and the pain finally decides to rip through him.

His world narrows entirely to the burning sensation gripping him, engulfing him, ripping him piece by piece, trying to pull his mind from his body, and to the feel of his hand grasping Sherlock's. He knows as long as he can keep his mind on these things, he won't go.

The burning continues and John can hear so many sounds, the quiet cafe suddenly filled with noise. He could hear the world as though all of the tiniest sounds he never would have heard before were louder than he could bear. He could hear men shouting, orders being thrown back and forth, the ripping crack of gunfire. John could almost smell the dust coating his nostrils, could almost feel the heat of the air, almost feel the fire of death roaring through him. In two places at once.

Above, and yet below, the blanket of sound John could hear a low rumble, full of love, and concern, and John held on to that voice as surely as he held onto the hand.

It was changing, the voice, barking orders, shouting at the surrounding crowd, but never letting go of John's hand.

It's gone very quiet. Something has stopped. Not the low rumbling voice. Something else. The screaming. All the voices, crying out, the gunfire. John's own screaming has ceased.

His world widened just enough for his eyes to open, to take in the pallid, stricken face above him. He could see Sherlock, the panic in the grey, watery, eyes too much for John to deal with. John saw Sherlock's mouth moving, forming words. One word. Over and over.

"John!"

John can't hear him. But he takes this moment to look at Sherlock's face.

A face he had never wanted to say goodbye to.

John's world collapses. All he can feel is the fire and the hand in his. That is all he has left as the pain leaves him. Sherlock's hand in his own is the last thing John thinks about as e  
verything ends.

  


  



End file.
